


The Viola

by Azashenya



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azashenya/pseuds/Azashenya





	The Viola

The old man bends over the instrument on the table, his eyesight is fading and the dim light doesn't help. With a soft cloth he rubs a spot of polish into the wood, bringing it to a dark shine.

In the room around him lies the clutter of a life time. The tools of his trade along side scraps of wood that might come in handy one day. It is a comfortable room, the hard edges worn away by long use.

He's made many instruments in this room over the years. Violin, Viola, Cello, Double Bass. Harp and Lute. Pretty much any instrument made from wood, to take strings, he's made. No pianos or harpsichords, true, but that's another trade entirely.

Much of his life has been spent out here, bent over the pieces of wood. A least until the arthritis forced him to lay down his tools.

This is the last one he'll ever make, a Viola for his Grand-daughter.

With fingers gnarled by arthritis he fits the tail piece before winding each string on loosely.

She was a soloist with the city orchestra last week, his little Beth. He was so proud. Of all his grandchildren she's the only one to inherit her Grandmother's love of music, or her skill with the bow.

He misses his Maria, his beautiful Maria, who could make her Cello sing like an angel. If little Beth only played the Cello she would have had Maria's but her heart was given to the Viola.

So he is making this for her. Through the pain in his fingers he's carefully shaped it, determined that it will be one of his best. Through the pain in his heart he named it Maria, named it for his lovely nightingale.

His Maria who left him three years ago this winter. In his brighter moments he wonders if She's found a Cello to play up there. He'll join her soon, he knows that like the weight in his bones and the longing in his heart.

With a file he adjusts the slope of the bridge a little, shaping it to the fingerboard so the strings will sit right.

He tunes her, tightening the black pegs with his bent fingers. He has to stop when the pain in his knuckles is too great, but eventually he has her in tune.

Plucking the strings with a roughened fingertip he smiles at the sound. She'll make a fine Viola for his little Beth.

He lays the Viola gently in the new case and locks it shut before closing up the workshop and going inside. He finds that he tires more easily now then when he was younger.

Tomorrow he will give his little Beth the Viola. In her young hands his Maria will sing again.


End file.
